Voyage Home
by mamadillo
Summary: This begins with alternate ending to "Murdoch Identity". What would happen if Murdoch's memory had still been in recovery mode when he returned to Canada?
1. Chapter 1 - Excuse me?

Several telegrams later Murdoch was coming to terms with his old life. He was looking forward to returning to the more modern, less crowded streets of Toronto. At least he had enough funds to reimburse Anna for her help and to pay for his passage home. But he still felt the rough gaps in his memory scraping at the edges of his consciousness. He was uneasy with himself; he remembered his Catholic faith, but much of his childhood and its influences on him remained shrouded. Perhaps his parents could help him.

He hoped he had kept journals these past few years; he wanted to know more about this Julia, whom he apparently had met through his work as a detective. Perhaps he had solved a case that affected her family closely.

Inspector Brackenreid had also written that a Dr. Ogden wanted to check his injuries as soon as he returned to be assured of his fitness to resume his duties.

In preparation for sailing, he had picked up a few magazines and books so that he would have reading material for the ocean crossing. He recognized his affinity for scientific discoveries and the works of John Donne and even Rudyard Kipling as he was making his selections; with a slight surprise he noted that he could read French almost as easily as English and picked up the untranslated versions of two works by Jules Verne that sounded unfamiliar.

A week without reading material would be difficult indeed, especially since he was traveling in second class and would not have access to the finer salons and library on board the liner. He'd actually considered third class for the sake of economizing, but the men at the Bristol constabulary had taken a collection to bridge the difference to allow him a few more amenities and a less crowded atmosphere.

oOoOo

With one change clothing, toiletries and reading materials in one easily carried satchel, Murdoch made his way from the landing to the train station. A few more bits had come clear to him on his voyage. Though he found Kipling's _Captains Courageous_ uplifting on the whole, he wasn't sure he'd ever want to read that thin volume again because of the longing it had stirred as he remembered his own childhood and youth. Perhaps he should consult Susannah or Father Keegan about his remaining questions. The scientific journals allowed him respite from the emotions and fed his curiosity. The layered meaning in Donne's poetry forced him to think on different levels simultaneously, a pleasant exercise, and there was enough variety that he laughed and worshiped and even blushed, and at some point recalled that the beautiful Julia was indeed Dr. Ogden. What else about her had he not recovered?

oOoOo

Entering the station house, his free hand automatically removed his homburg as cheers burst from the gathered men and Julia rushed forward to greet him with a kiss. The sudden outbreak overwhelmed him; he smiled but stiffened ever so slightly, and dropped his bag to return the doctor's embrace with a schoolboy's awkwardness. Surprise lit his eyes, as he wondered speechless, _"Were we so … informal with each other, in public?"_ He colored and looked away from her sheepishly.

Quickly Murdoch extricated himself from the embrace by bending to retrieve his belongings and dashing purposely toward his office before anyone else could approach. This greeting was more than he had anticipated. After the anonimity and mental solitude of his week of travel, he gladly closed the door seeking a moment to compose himself once again. He had barely begun to sort the correspondence that had accumulated on his desk during the past three weeks when a tap at the door brought him to attention. His shoulders tensed and he glanced about for another place to retreat, finding none, he looked at the door and called, "Yes?"

His eyes met those of the florid man who closed the door behind himself before addressing him. "Too much at once, then. Are you alright, old son?"

"I think so, Sir. Just surprised by the … intensity … of the moment. I have still a few gaps in my memory, and perhaps that is part of any …"

"I've seen such reactions before during my time in the army. You'll be fine as long as you don't try to force things along; it will come back in time. Now, take a few minutes to get yourself together, and then Dr. Ogden does need to see you, professionally," he said with a glint in his eye. "Get over to the morgue so she can look you over. If you're physically fit, I'll need your help on a robbery case."

"The morgue, Sir?" he swallowed and asked somewhat bewildered.

"She's the coroner, son," the inspector shook his head with a sad smile, "but she's a fine doctor and often puts injured constables to rights in her spare time." Brackenreid departed leaving the door open and giving instructions to a few of the men as he crossed the room to speak to the doctor who waited in his office.

"He'll be over to see you shortly, Doctor. But go slowly; he's still a bit vague, I'm afraid. That fall must've taken a bit more from him than we thought. A memory of you may have started his recovery, but he seemed genuinely surprised by the location of your office."

"I see, so it wasn't just my imagination that he flinched when I kissed him?"

"No, I'm afraid not. It seems there's a bit more to accomplish before he's completely back with us, but patience and letting him work may be the best tools we have at our disposal."

oOoOo

Having successfully retrieved his address from his personnel file and consulted a journal which seemed more concerned with scientific experiments than relational ones, Murdoch put on his hat and suit coat and made his way down the block to the morgue. At least he'd remembered where it was. His internal map of the city was returning bit by bit as he walked, a good sign he hoped. As he entered and approached Julia's desk, he caught the recorded strains of Vivaldi's _Four Seasons_ , and shyly inquired, "'Autumn,' if I am not mistaken?"

"Why, yes, William," she looked up and smiled. "I'm sorry, I meant, Detective. I should not have presumed … ."

He remembered that smile. His stomach twisted slightly. "Well, I … think that is why I am here … to see how much I have recovered." He nervously turned the hat he held in both hands.

"Well, then, set your coat and hat on the stand in the corner." She turned away to gather some supplies as she continued, "and I'll need you to remove your shirt as well. You may sit on the stool beside my desk. I believe you received a bullet to your upper arm?"

He was a bit embarrassed by her closeness as she turned back around. "Um, yes, but it passed cleanly through, and has shown no sign of infection."

She prodded the scars on his arm and used her stethoscope to auscultate his heart and lungs. "I can see that. Whoever dressed it for you must have washed it well. You may put your shirt back on."

He tugged his shirt into place and began buttoning quite rapidly. "Yes, Anna – Miss Fulford, I mean – was gentle and quite skilled," he was having trouble meeting the doctor's eyes. "I was … with her … when … I mean, she was … sitting with me when I … remembered you … I mean, when I began remembering … Doctor," he stammered; the room suddenly felt warmer, and he wondered if he should mention it.

"I see," she smiled again and tried to avoid the jealousy threatening to taint her words. Noting his discomfort, she asked, "Detective, is something bothering you?"

"I just felt warm for a moment, but it seems to have passed."

She gently touched his forehead as a mother might and remarked, "No fever.

"Now, tell me about your fall or what you can remember of your condition when you wakened in the coal car." She sat at her desk and began to make notes.

"Well, I don't know how long I was unconscious. The train's fireman found me at the terminal as he was checking his supply before the next run, I suppose. I'm afraid I gave him a fright. He had to help me to sit up and support me into the station. I was rather stiff, and my head and back were fairly sore. I may have cracked a rib or two, but mostly felt dazed and bruised. He helped my find the steamship ticket in my pocket, and so I made my way to the docks because he, or we, thought the name on the ticket was mine."

She continued to make notes, but looked up to ask, "How was your voyage to Bristol?"

"I don't remember much of it. I collapsed again in my quarters, and was sick several times, but I don't remember whether it was from the headaches or just mal de mer. I tried to sleep it off, I suppose. I was rather relieved to reach solid ground again, but have no recollection of how many days had passed. I don't remember much else until two men chased me after I tried to make inquiries about the man whose ticket I had used. One of them must have fired at me."

"I see, and Miss Fulford took you in then? How did she treat you?"

"First she hid me and persuaded my pursuers to look elsewhere. Then she dressed my arm and fed me and led me to a room … to sleep."

"In what condition were your previous injuries by then?"

"Well, my head and back no longer ached. But I may not have eaten for some time. I was rather famished so I consumed two bowls of stew, a half loaf of bread and, I think, two or two and a half pints of ale."

"I see, that seems unusual for you. How much help did you require when you stood up?" She continued making her notes.

"Well, I did feel rather light-headed, and she said something about me being unaccustomed to her fare. I'm afraid I must have leaned on her shoulder fairly hard, for I couldn't seem to stand without assistance. Perhaps I had lost more blood due to the gunshot than I thought."

"Perhaps," she caught a laugh just before it escaped and made another note. "Did you receive any other injuries during your time abroad?"

"I don't think so, perhaps a bruise or two while fighting the assassin, but those are gone now. Is that all you need from me, Doctor?" he asked hoping to be excused.

"Yes. If you'll give me a moment to finish this report, you can carry it to the inspector yourself."

He was about to leave when she called him back with a concerned tone, "Detective, aren't you forgetting something? Your waistcoat is still on the hat stand."

"I apologize, Doctor. I must be forgetting things again." He nervously removed his coat again and dressed with his back to her.

"Is something else concerning you? Something I should know about your condition? Or something I could help you with?"

He hesitated before asking, "Are we not friends as well as colleagues, Doctor?"

"I should think so, why?"

"I … had to look up my address earlier. I could not remember where I live. It sounds foolish, but I … I hope I am not too forward, but would you help me to find it – my home? I think I remember how to get there, but with all that has happened, part of me seems … lost."

He wore a look that had always suggested to her that a little boy was hiding inside that grown man.

"Certainly. We shall find it together then."

"May I return for you around 6 o'clock?"

"Yes, that would be fine."

oOoOo

The detective set the report on his superior's desk and turned to walk out when the inspector inquired, "Well, what did she say, man?"

"It's all in her report, sir."

"She didn't tell you? Or you didn't ask?"

"I thought it better to let you see for yourself, sir."

Brackenreid was puzzled by Murdoch's evasions, usually the man in front of him enjoyed being "the smartest man in the room" and sharing information with others – at length.

"What's this remark about 'Be sure he avoids alcohol during the rest of his recovery'? I've never known you to touch the stuff. Did anything happen over there I should know about?"

"No, at least I don't think so," Murdoch appeared confused, as well. "Are there any other restrictions to my activities of which I should be aware?"

"Nothing that should interfere with this robbery investigation, unless you're planning to run after someone – Don't do that. Now, sit down and I'll tell you about the events. Then you can have George Crabtree and Henry Higgins fill you in on the avenues they have pursued for the past two days."

"George? Henry? Please join me in my office," he requested on his way through the bull pen. Now he would just have to remember which was which. Was George the one with a collection of aunts?

oOoOo

As the sun set he was still filling the chalkboard in his office with information on the robbery of a dentist's office. He was still not sure why the office had been targeted.

He turned to the tap at his open door. "Oh, I'm sorry, Doctor," his face colored slightly. "I'm afraid I lost track of the time," he said, dusting the chalk from his hands. "I was just trying to put some order to a puzzling inquiry."

"I was hoping you hadn't forgotten that I had agreed to help you."

"Just let me get my hat and coat."

When they stepped out of the station house, he took the curbside of the sidewalk and allowed a discreet space between them. She laughed when he told her another of George's stories about his aunts; this felt familiar, and he began to relax. She described an article she had seen about developments in vaccines. They discussed the difficulties faced by the working folk of the city in utilizing such advances. Before long they were approaching Mrs. Kitchen's boarding house.

"Thank you, Doctor. I hope I have not taken you too far out of your own way home." She was just turning to continue on her way when he offered, "Did you want to step inside for a cup of tea?"

"No thank you, Detective; I must be going. But thank you for a pleasant conversation; it was quite as invigorating as the walk."

"We should walk again, soon, then. Perhaps a visit to the botanical gardens tomorrow?"

"Well, that is certainly 'soon'." She was taken aback, usually advances in their friendship had come painfully slowly, well except once. She considered and replied, "Yes, I would like that; perhaps as a break from work in the early afternoon – to clear our heads?"

"That sounds ideal. Well, until then." He lifted his hat, and then watched as she turned again to go her own way. Passing through the door, a smile crept across his face, he had surprised himself.

oo

 _I do not know if this will remain a 'one shot' or continue, but it may have potential._


	2. Chapter 2 - Kin and Kindling

He considered bicycling to work, but decided against it. The extra time allowed him to continue renewing his acquaintance with the city of Toronto, or at least this portion of it.

At the station house Murdoch again went over the notes on his chalkboard. It puzzled him that nothing at the dentist's office was reported missing and little was out of place, as burglaries were usually messy affairs.

He needed to speak to the constables again. "Henry, when you and George spoke to the dentist was he completely certain that nothing was missing? Perhaps someone was after the gold for fillings or crowns."

"George actually mentioned that, sir, but the man said he didn't keep any on hand unless he knew a patient was coming in for that type of work on a given day, and generally never more than a few grams at a time for each individual. He said he couldn't afford to keep it on hand without a definite reason."

"I suppose. Did he miss anything: Medicines? Supplies? Files?"

"Well, that's what was strange. He said he hadn't noticed anything missing, but he insisted on reporting the break in. He knew someone else had been in the office because things were out of place, but could not name anything specific, other than an incompletely closed drawer and minor shifting of items on the desk."

"What evidence did you find of forced entry? Did you think to take any photographs or check for fingermarks?"

"Only some tiny scratches as if a key from some other lock had been tried or altered. The only fingermarks we found were those of the receptionist and the dentist, so we suspect the perpetrator wore gloves. I don't think George brought the camera along, but you'd have to ask him."

oOoOo

Looking up from his paperwork, Murdoch consulted his pocket watch – 11 o'clock. Crabtree had been patroling the night before and was not due in the station for another 3 hours. The detective considered his appointment to go walking with Dr. Ogden in early afternoon; if he left at half past noon he could easily be back before George arrived.

The detective examined his watch more closely and found the inscription "With love, Liza". _Liza?_ But he had remembered no family member with that name.

Mother had died when he was still too young for a pocket watch. Susannah had taken orders as a nun and eschewed material wealth. Harry, his father, had been in a bottle as long as he could remember _(Oh wasn't that a maladroit phrase? He softly snorted at himself.)_ and only got worse after Mother died. He was still forgetting someone. Bertie, a lump filled his throat; his brother hadn't been able to live long without Mother. Was he missing someone else?

Murdoch turned the watch over in his hands a few times, staring at it, and ran his finger over the letters, willing it to reveal the secret. He didn't notice Higgins until the younger man spoke.

"Missing her, sir?"

"Huhn? Pardon me?"

"Miss Milner. Do you ever miss her, still?"

"I … well …" He wasn't sure how much of his uncertainty to admit, but perhaps he could use this to fill in another gap.

"No need to explain, sir. One night when we were walking the beat along the waterfront, George told me how torn up you were when she died, like some automaton in one of George's stories. He was explaining because the time you and Dr. Ogden fell out was like that. If you don't mind my saying sir, you were as stiff and prickly as a cactus for weeks."

He felt invaded; the young man seemed to be privy to thoughts and feelings he so badly wanted to recapture. He almost gave his words a caustic edge, but swallowed it and stared at the watch again, mumbling, "I had no idea my personal life was a topic of such interest among the constabulary."

He forced himself back to work, "I'm sorry, Constable, you came in here to talk about a case. Have you anything new on the dentist or the receptionist? Any connections to suggest what an invader might have been seeking?"

"No sir, nothing new on them. But we just got word from someone who lives on the floor above the office of some odd noises and a shadowy figure apparently leaving or passing the building well after dark."

"We have no other avenues open at present, so we'd better go to see this witness." He put on his hat and coat and followed Higgins out of the station.

oOoOo

Higgins and Murdoch arrived at the building which housed Dr. Nelson's dental offices and went up the indoor stairs to the third floor living quarters of Beverly MacGrady. As they knocked, she opened the door dressed to go out. She let them know it was time for her grocering and that it was not convenient at all for her to speak to them at that time and that they should come back later in the afternoon but before 4 o'clock for then she'd need to be preparing for Mr. MacGrady's dinner and return from his offices.

She brushed past them and was down the stairs and along the street before they could form any protest. Pursuing her would only make the constabulary appear even less capable.

"Well, Constable, I suppose that put us in our place. I need to return to the station as I have another appointment in less than an hour. We shall have to try again later this afternoon."

"Didn't you want me to try to follow her, sir?" Higgins looked back and gestured over his shoulder in the direction the errant witness had gone.

"No. We have no cause to suspect her of any wrongdoing."

As Constable Higgins made his way into the station house, the detective continued the half block further to the morgue. Due to Mrs. MacGrady's untimely departure, he had arrived more than fifteen minutes earlier than he'd expected.

He had so few clues to try to piece together any patchwork of sense with his investigation at the dentists' office. This day was certainly not turning out to be very profitable unless one counted the memories of grief that had returned in half-flower. Perhaps later he could think them through. Mrs. Kitchen had asked that morning if he felt able to split some wood to use in the stoves. He was planning to devote an hour or two to that chore after work; time that he could spend thinking while he worked.

As he considered the puzzles, Doctor Ogden came up beside him drying her freshly washed hands. She tossed the towel across the back of her desk chair, saying, "Why, Detective, that's a sober look on your face. Are you not ready to take a break?"

"Oh, yes," he replied still distracted by his thoughts. "Shall we go?"

As they made their way toward the botanical gardens, Murdoch began to outdistance the doctor without quite being aware of it. The otherwise vigorous woman reached forward for his elbow, silently cursing her corset. Once more aware of her presence, he quickly apologized, "I'm so sorry, Julia … I mean, Doctor."

As he slackened his pace to a leisurely stroll, she caught her breath. "William, what has you so focused elsewhere?"

She had called him by name, and he tried to smile, but a sad look lingered in his eyes. "Some less than happy memories and a rather inscrutable robbery with no apparent motive and little evidence left behind. I feel a bit as if I am in deep waters."

"I see. I hope I have done nothing to contribute to your discomfort."

"Nothing that I can think of, anyway," he replied as they entered the grounds of the garden. "Which path shall we take today?"

He pointed out a few plants to which he gave both Latin and common names. She reminded him of medicinal values of three or four of them and poisonous content of a few others.

His face had lightened considerably by the time she finally released his elbow to enter the morgue. "Thank you, Detective, that was quite refreshing."

"Please, I would prefer that you call me William, at least when we are away from our regular duties."

"Certainly, William," she smiled as he stepped down the street more confidently than when he had set out.

Entering the station house, Murdoch again sought out Higgins and looked to see whether Crabtree had yet arrived. He was feeling anxious about the lack of direction in investigating this robbery. He wanted to have the two men together to compare their notes and be able to send Henry home soon to get a little rest since he was scheduled back to walk the 10 pm to 6 am rounds that night. Then perhaps he and George could visit with Mrs. MacGrady and see if anything useful came of her observations.

oOoOo

"Thank you Father Allensen. I appreciate you meeting with me. I feel the need for confession, but I find myself in circumstances that make it somewhat difficult."

"Mr. Murdoch, it is my pleasure to offer whatever spiritual guidance you request. You seem nervous; come walk with me in the garden. What could possibly be causing your distress?"

"Well, since I was last here, I have had some experiences that may have made my last confession somewhat inadequate. I was injured and lost a significant portion of my memory. I made my confession at a time before I had even recalled my name because I knew I had transgressed the seventh and tenth commandments at the very least."

"William, no confession is perfectly complete because no human memory is, but we each confess that of which the Holy Spirit convicts us. God is and has always been more fully aware of all aspects of your life than anyone else, including yourself. As you trust Him to reveal the future path of your life in His own perfect timing, you may also trust Him to remind you of your past in His timing. Is this all that troubles you?"

"I was actually hoping that you might assist me in recalling something, about some of my past. I have not been able to make contact with my remaining family. And I fear I may have been too uncomfortable about certain aspects of my life to have any true confidants. Please, can you tell me what happened to Eliza?"

"Ah, yes, you and Miss Milner were engaged to wed before she contracted tuberculosis. You were receiving counseling from Father Cheyne. All of us were surprised at how quickly she faded; you most of all. You had helped Mrs. Kitchen through Arthur's long decline and may have expected a similar experience. You should speak to Beatrice about this; I can only say that you had her quite worried."

"Yes, Father, I shall do so," he answered surprised to realize anyone would be concerned. "And have I mentioned any other," he blushed, "attachments since then?"

The priest gave the slightest smile, "Not by name, no, but you have mentioned anxious thoughts about vague desires and about the sins of others in which you took no part. Beware: that concern with others' actions is not confession, but borders on gossip.

"If you wish to know more of your relations with living people, you should consult them. If you cannot face them directly, you must ask those closest to you: Mrs. Kitchen, your neighbors and your colleagues. Perhaps they have seen more of your heart and your mind than you think you have shown them." The priest went on, "You do well in using your strengths to bear the burdens of others, and you receive God's blessing in this. You must learn to give others the privilege of receiving God's blessing when they help you to bear yours. Humility, William. Think on these things."

"Yes, Father, thank you." The men completed their round of the garden in silent contemplation, and Father Allensen opened the latch of the gate through which the detective passed on his way home.

oOoOo

"Julia, I did not expect to find you here!"

"Mrs. Kitchen asked me to take a look at an infected tooth, as her dentist had no place in his schedule today. I cleaned out what I could and gave her some paregoric to rub on the area to ease the pain until he is able to see her. You might check on her later, to see how she is feeling. I was just leaving."

"I see," he could not decide if he was more bashful at her presence in his dwelling or more disappointed at her iminent departure.

"What have you been up to?"

"Just a visit with Father Allensen about some matters troubling me."

"I'm surprised at you, a man of scientific mind, participating in such superstition."

He bristled, "Doctor, would you think me odd to consult an ophthalmologist if my eyes were bothering me? These matters concern my soul, so I think it quite ordinary to consult a priest. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get into older clothes for there is kindling that must be split." He charged up the stairs two at a time and closed his door forcefully.

By the time he returned downstairs a cup of tea and some stew awaited him. He drank the tea and toyed with the stew. Julia's comment stung and left him isolated once more. He was angry with himself … for being so easily baited. His appetite had gone away with his temper, so he washed up the dishes and carried a lantern to the rear yard and began to chop and split wood. As the axe crashed down again and again, his muscles warmed and loosened; the pain of freshly remembered losses gave strength to his blows and washed down his face with the sweat. Stacking the small pieces as he went, he did his best to create order from the splinters.


	3. Chapter 3 - Stiff and Nonsense

_Thank you RuthieGreen for the reading of one section and reining in something that might have made me blush._

oOo

The stiffness in his back made rising and dressing a bit of a challenge that morning. The heavy work had eased his sorrows without resort to strong drink, however, so he considered it a reasonable exchange.

He must have dreamed through much of the night, but how much was memory and how much was fantasy would be difficult to discern. He was particularly bothered by one dream involving Doctor Ogden and absinthe; _surely not_ , he thought to himself, reddening as he finished a second cup of tea with his morning toast.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Kitchen, I have never meant to trouble you," he started out as Mrs, Kitchen set a heated towel across his shoulders.

"Why this is no trouble, Detective! After all you were doing chores to benefit us all." She lifted the warm iron from the stove and began to run it across his back in an attempt to relieve the stiff muscles.

"I visited with Father Allensen yesterday, and he suggested I had caused you worry after Liza …."

She cut in seeing his eyes begin to cloud, "That was quite some time ago, why rehearse such old pains?"

"I don't remember much of what happened, and, well, I wish to."

"Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Murdoch." She paused just a moment attempting to judge how much of the answer he really wanted. "When she passed away, you didn't move from your room for days. It's not surprising you don't remember much from that time; you wouldn't let me in the room at all for three days, and when you finally quit protesting it was because you were so drunk you couldn't stop me. The rest of that week you were sick enough Arthur and I were afraid we would lose you as well as Liza. And then, in the following months, you became quite withdrawn but focused." She set the iron back onto the stove to heat again.

Ashamed by the revelation, his face blanched and his jaw clenched. He realized how much like his father he actually was and determined anew to abstain from alcohol.

"Now, before you begin your self-flagelation, mental or physical, young man, do remember that the additional focus led to your promotion and transfer to station 4 along with that other young man – what's his name? George something, isn't it?"

He swallowed, then whispered, "Yes, ma'am," between bites.

"Of course there were difficulties; that Inspector Brackenreid of yours has certainly taken his time to admit that your methods are worthwhile. And, of course, you've had to explain our Catholic practices to another batch of Orangemen among the constables."

She reached to clear the dishes in front of him, and continued, "But look at how far you have come. Particularly within the last year and a half, you have even allowed yourself to remember that though Liza is gone and Arthur now, too, you do remain among the living." She stared out the window over the sink, concluding with a catch in her voice, "And don't you _ever_ forget _that_ again."

Perhaps Inspector Brackenreid and Father Allensen were correct; pushing himself to remember could be dangerous. It did seem to reopen old wounds rather suddenly, for others as well as himself. At least now he understood the half of young Higgins' allusions the previous day.

He decided he'd better change the subject if he were to have any chance at all of getting to work in a timely fashion and awkwardly cleared his throat, "Are _you_ feeling any better today, Mrs. Kitchen?"

"Somewhat, I'm glad Doctor Ogden left the vial of paregoric. It's quite a help, with my dentist, Doctor Kinkade unavailable for the next few days."

"I've heard of another dentist, Doctor Nelson. In fact, he's presented a case that is currently perplexing me. Would you be willing to see him, instead of Doctor Kinkade? You might even be able to help me determine whether the constabulary should be involved in this affair at all."

oOoOo

"Murdoch, get in here!"

"Sir"

"What have you on the Nelson break in?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Murdoch admitted with a grimace. He outlined what he and George had discovered when they had finally interviewed the elusive Mrs. MacGrady. To wit: an unidentified person in male clothing had been seen outside the front of the building shortly after some scraping noises seemed to emanate from the dentist's office after regular office hours. They had managed to get her to create an identifying picture using the detective's book of characteristics.

He did not mention sending Mrs. Kitchen to visit the dentist professionally or his hope of seeing if a patient's perspective would elucidate any of the matter. (He had even offered to pay the dentist's bill if Nelson suggested getting her tooth extracted or crowned. The detective simply didn't want to see her in any more pain, and if he could expedite matters to correct it, he would.)

The inspector dropped his bombshell, "Well, last night someone broke into the offices of Denning and Taylor and disarranged several files, spreading the pages around, but once again, nothing appeared to be missing!"

"Denning and Taylor, sir? The real estate brokers? And nothing missing, yet again? Do you suspect malicious pranksters of some sort?"

"Hardly, old mucker. That sort would give the whole office's worth of files a thorough toss, and not just settle for a few gently spread. And they'd likely either steal or break a good deal of equipment in the process as well."

"Then, I'll go around and see what files are involved, and see if there remains any physical evidence of the culprit. I'll assemble a list of affected files and compare it with what was disarranged at Doctor Nelson's. Perhaps if there are any commonalities among the files tampered with …"

"Fine, but mind the time you take. Now that this has happened more than once, you know the pressure will increase to find a solution – quickly, before it happens again."

oOoOo

Julia had arrived early to work on reports of statistics for the recently ended quarter: deaths due to illness, deaths due to misadventure, deaths due to homicide; and varieties within each group, divided according to age groupings, neighborhoods, gender and ethnicities. It was a good time to work on such reports since this past week there had been no mayhem or severe illness needing her practical skills as doctor or coroner.

Detective Murdoch had convinced her that such statistics could help to identify troubling patterns before they became too severe. Within the past year or so she had actually started to notice patterns in the spread of cholera and influenza that she was hoping she could use to persuade the city to at least conduct educational programs in disease prevention for those in the less affluent sections of town.

She found herself humming a passage from the third movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony as she tabulated and summarized her findings on the pages covering her desk in unruly piles.

"Doctor, have you anything to help a poor man with a headache?" Hearing the detective's voice unexpectedly, she jumped slightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Perhaps a tincture of willow bark?"

"If it's not too much bother." As she stepped away to retrieve a packet of the powder she had isolated days ago, he continued, "About yesterday evening …"

"Yes?" She stirred a small measure into a teacup of water which she handed to him.

"Your remark about superstition caught me by surprise, but I should not have rushed off so rudely." He swallowed the mixture at a gulp and made a face.

"I admit, my comment was more confrontational than I intended." _Perhaps things were looking up?_ But she continued, "Truly, I just find it difficult to think of you among the stodgy people who use their religious traditions as an excuse for all manner of unkindness and mistreatment of others."

His pride flared again into anger at the new accusation. But, remembering the earlier revelation from Mrs. Kitchen, almost immediately he was overwhelmed by a wave of self doubt at the possibility that he might indeed act in such a manner. _Surely she must realize that her explanation offended him not only as a Catholic, but as a target of others' misplaced prejudices, he felt … he thought … that he had more often than not gone out of his way to accept others as he found them, even to defend the easily accused though he might not agree with them._ In his confusion, he lamely offered, "Perhaps, Doctor … I should … just go," and suited the deed to the word.

"Detective? I'm so sorry." Her words trailed after him too softly for him to even recognize before the door closed. _I've done it again, haven't I? Let my thoughts rush out of my mouth before tempering them. Oh, Father, would have a field day with that admission wouldn't he?_ Honestly, she normally did so much better. _What was it about this man that caused her usual tact to flee?_

oOoOo

"George, have you that list of disturbed files from Dr. Nelson's office? Henry, I need the list I had you take down at Denning & Taylor, as well," Murdoch called from his office door.

He compared the lists, but nothing leapt out at him. He knew he was missing it – the essential detail that would click the rest of the puzzle into place. Why could he not see it?

Lowering himself stiffly into his chair, Murdoch rubbed where his eyebrows met the bridge of his nose, as he decided to turn his attention elsewhere. He had started to read through some of his cases from the past few years to see if he could fill in any more of the blanks in his memory. Often, it seemed, one thought beget another, spreading, reflecting, filling empty spaces and intersecting like ripples on a pond.

He picked up another old file and began to flip through it. Several loose pages slid out and, before he could catch them, fluttered to the floor. With a grimace, he bent to retrieve the scattered papers.

He recognized his need for a better way to keep papers together, as well as some fresh air and motion to clear his head. A quick thought rose as he reached for his coat and hat. Not seeing Constable Crabtree, he spoke to Higgins, "Henry, I'm going out to get something at the hardware for a small project. I should be back in less than half an hour."

Unaccustomed to being given such a message, Higgins had barely looked up from the newspaper he was glancing through on this quiet afternoon before the detective had disappeared.

Fewer than ten minutes later, Henry was again roused from his perusal of the illustrations in the newspaper when Doctor Ogden asked, "Have you seen Detective Murdoch? I wanted to see if his headache had dissipated."

The young man snapped to attention, "I'm sorry, Doctor; you just missed him. He's stepped out to get supplies for another of his projects. He seemed in quite the hurry; I'm sure he'll be back straightaway. Should I ... send him to you when he returns?"

"No, Constable, just let him know I was hoping he's feeling better."

Just then the Inspector called out, "Higgins! Where's Murdoch?"

"He stepped out to the hardware to get something."

"Well, then, where's Crabtree?"

"I ... I'm not ... sure, Sir."

"Well, then, take Osland and run over to the offices of Jameson, Grant & Craig. Someone slipped in when they were closed for lunch and did a gentle toss of the place. Nothing missing, just a messy pile of papers on the floor that hadn't been out of the cabinet at all before they left. Go past the hardware you think Murdoch most likely went to and gather him on your way." As Higgins gathered his hat and gestured to another constable to grab his as well, the inspector muttered loudly, "The chief constable's going to love this – first a dentist, then a real estate office, now a bloody solicitor! If we don't come up with something soon, he'll have my guts for garters."


	4. Chapter 4 - Clips & Crowns

_Note to Readers: Thank you for your patience while I struggled with real life and finishing this story. I only hope the ending is not too disappointing._

oOo

Inspector Brackenreid roared into the detective's office instantly drawing the three men's attention, "Dammit, Murdoch! Wot the hell are you fiddlin' at now? We've got a burglar to catch, and here you stand taking apart a – wot is that? … a bloody screen door spring? Into tiny little pieces! Have you gone off your nut, man? Now that we've got those solicitors' office involved, Stockton's chewin' my ears every coupl'o' hours!"

"Actually, Sir, I'd been going through some older cases and discovered loose pages that too easily slid out of their files. I thought if I could hold them together somehow, they might remain in place more easily." The detective smiled, quite pleased with his discovery and continued, "You see," he held up the work in his hands inviting the inspector's observation, "by cutting the spring in about the same place on every other round ..."

Barely believing his ears, _but then this was Murdoch after all_. his superior cut off further explanation, "You're spending working hours … the three of you … in here … making your own bloody paper clips?! You do realize the Gem Manufacturing Company has been producing a perfectly good, and may I add, more elegant design for more than 5 years over in England?"

"Certainly, Sir, but these are more compact," Murdoch defended his efforts. "And I can make over 200 from one spring at nearly a tenth the cost of 100 Gem clips. It only takes a few minutes to cut the whole batch by hand, while I've heard a box of Gems can take up to half an hour to produce."

Constable Crabtree couldn't resist putting in, "That really is very good, Sir. These are a good bit stronger, too, I think, similar to a clamp – Murdoch's Paper Clamps. No … wait … Murdoch's Mini-Clips, that's it. And, if you sell them at three-quarters the price of Gems you would still make quite a tidy profit, if I do say so."

"Yes … well," Murdoch was visibly pleased but caught the inspector's exasperated look and changed tack. "And," he cleared his throat and attempted to return emphasis to the case, "while I've been cutting this batch, Henry and I have been explaining to George what we found at Jameson, Grant & Craig."

"You know, Sir, from the sound of it, the solicitors' office might benefit from several batches of these clips as they get their files back to rights," George suggested, missing the detective's attempt to redirect the younger men.

Higgins, catching Crabtree's enthusiasm, chimed in, "Hey, George! I'd bet that real estate office could use a batch or two, as well." He elbowed his fellow constable gently, "Oh, and maybe I could give a batch to Polly, that cute receptionist at Nelson's office. She might like that." He smirked and waggled his eyebrows wolfishly.

The inspector's temper was about to burst forth again as the younger men chattered on, but then Murdoch's hands stilled as the familiar look of pattern recognition flowed across his face, as recent scenes of desks covered with haphazardly arranged files made their way through his mind in a moment.

"Gentlemen, I believe you have recognized something without realizing it. George, take Henry to each of the affected offices and find out which of the local stationers provides their office supplies and what types of paper clips they use." As the constables departed, the detective explained, "Sir, as hard as it seems to fathom, I believe someone may have removed their paper clips."

"You're pullin' my leg, Murdoch. Why would anyone steal paper clips?"

"I don't know, sir."

"All right, then, but who would bother to do it and why target those particular offices?"

"Again, I don't know, sir. But it does explain the mild nature of the messes. I'm going to look through the patient and client lists from the affected offices again, perhaps I'll find something that overlaps this time."

oOoOo

Murdoch made his way through the boarding house quietly. He was too late for the dinner hour, but perhaps Mrs. Kitchen had reserved something for him as she often did when his work kept him at the station house. Hearing the search of the ice box and larder, Mrs. Kitchen entered from her personal sitting room where she had been mending clothes for another lodger.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Murdoch. I was wondering what had kept you, as you had said this morning that you wished to discuss my observations as soon as possible."

She filled the kettle and set it to boil as he sliced two pieces of bread from yesterday's loaf and spread blackberry jam across one and mashed peanuts across the other. He sliced and cored the pear he had found and added it to his plate along with a peeled carrot.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Kitchen, just too many files to sort through, I'm afraid. How did things go at Dr. Nelson's office? Are you feeling any better?"

"Somewhat. He put in a temporary filling and took measurements for a crown. I'm to rinse several times daily with salt water and go back in three days to have it installed."

"Ah, that sounds good." He sat and bowed his head to whisper a grace over his small repast and signed the cross, before looking up again. "And what did you make of the office?" he inquired as he bit a pear slice in two, studying her face as he chewed.

"Well, the young receptionist Polly Meintz, his wife's niece he said, is a sweet enough girl, though her mother might be more concerned than her uncle at her flirtations with the postman when he brought the day's mail." She lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head to see if the detective considered this as significant as she.

"I see," Murdoch drew out the syllables and nodded once, though he didn't yet. He chewed a bite of sandwich as she continued at the slight encouragement of the genial curiosity in the eyes fixed on her.

"Apparently he's not the first young fellow to linger in the office longer than strictly necessary, When I mentioned that delaying a man's delivery route might get him into trouble with his superiors," at this Mrs. Kitchen leaned forward, "she replied that the stationer's assistant had never mentioned it."

"Oh?" Still not quite making any connections, Murdoch prompted gently and took another bite.

"In fact, he'd even stopped a few times when deliveries merely brought him to the neighborhood without anything to deliver there. She said she found his talk of his habit of tinkering interesting, but she called a stop to his extra visits after he began going on and on, pressing with questions about how well they liked the supplies he'd brought around, as if he were trying too hard to induce an increase in their purchases. Obviously his methods lacked finesse." She looked up from her sewing to assess whether the information was proving helpful.

"Indeed," the detective replied. "This jam is quite good, Mrs. Kitchen," he noted with a smile before asking, "Did she mention the young man's name?" He took another bite and his smile broadened at her answer as he chewed vigorously.

oOoOo

"So you're tellin' me that the ijit ..."

"Young Taylor, Sir," the detective interjected.

"Taylor then, went to steal back paper clips he'd given out to try to impress lasses? Higgins was on to it? God help us …" the inspector's eyes rolled as he slugged back the last scotch in his glass.

"Not quite. Henry was close to the track; though perhaps George's entrepreneurial bent was closer. Jeremy Taylor was trying to perfect a machine that would make paper clips faster than those currently used in England, but he was having trouble getting the proper grip into them, so he delivered a few batches of his rather distinctive triangular clips to selected clients of the stationer's shop as trials.

"He only retrieved them when he learned from his uncle, the property broker, that a potential rival was trying to discover the maker and methods of the distinctive design, lest the interloper try to copy the shape or machinery before he could patent or sell either."

oOoOo

Shadows lengthening, he approached the desk quietly and looked through the glass separating the office from the morgue theater. She was obviously busy with a case from another station, perhaps he should just leave a note or … he simply dropped the small package on her desk and turned to make good his retreat.

Today her voice caught him before he could reach the door. "What's this, Detective?" Her freshly wiped hand indicated the small box as he turned to face her. Reaching her side quickly with his heart pounding harder than would be assumed for such a slight exertion, he smiled tentatively as his eyes caught hers, stilling her hand before she could pick up his gift.

His voice felt scratchy, _perhaps he was coming down with something_ , as the words stumbled from his mouth. "Doctor … Julia, I know I've been impatient lately, mostly with myself, but perhaps also with you. I know it's not precisely suitable, but I have something to show you … I need to know what you think … If I may have your hand …?" His eyes still locked on hers, Murdoch's left hand retrieved the box while he extended his right toward her expectantly.

She smiled and lifted her left hand which he brought to his lips for a kiss, gazes still entwined, as he gently turned her hand, now cupping her upturned palm in his own. His left hand thumbed open the box and poured four or five small objects into the waiting hand.

Her eyes finally left his; obviously puzzled, she could only whisper, "William?"

The spell broken, his voice returned almost to normal, "A peace offering? George suggested calling them Murdoch's Mini-Clips; I've started using them in my own files, but I really wanted … a second opinion …" his voice trailed off, still unsure quite what had happened or even what to do next.

Retrieving her hand, she looked more closely at the objects and finally managed to reply, "They're lovely, Detective, so very … round!"

"Yes … round," he swallowed and agreed, still somewhat overawed by the lovely, round, blue irises he'd nearly lost himself in again.

"Why, just yesterday I was wishing for something like these! I'll be glad to try them." The fingers of her left hand closed over them, while the other reached for the box which he willingly surrendered.

"And let me know what you think … Julia?"

"Of course!"

He'd almost reached the door again when he knew he couldn't yet leave. He turned toward her once more to see her staring at the desk, fingers pensively moving the clips across the page onto which she'd dropped them. _Could she be as confused as he? Surely not!_

"Julia?"

Her eyes met his again, but her look was more reserved. "Is anything wrong, Detective?"

"Nothing. I know you've still some work, but then so do I … ," he stumbled slightly. "Would you … consider me too forward if I offered to walk you home? I'm certain that by the time we were ready to leave, it will be quite dark, and … I would hate to think of you meeting any … danger along the way."

She smiled folding her hands in front of her, "I usually just call for Father's carriage if I must get about in the dark, but perhaps tonight a walk might ease some of the day's stress. I think I can finish before too long. Shall I telephone you in your office, to let you know when I'm ready?"

"I can't imagine anything better." He hardly believed his ears. He lifted his hat in a final salute before finally escaping the building. A silly grin crept across his face as he made his way back to the station. As he made his way to his office, he left more than a few men wondering where to find the intoxicant that seemed to be affecting the usually staid man.

oOo

 _Any statistics in this chapter are completely invented._

 _The Gem Company had been making their classic design for several years before this story takes place. A fellow in Connecticut did invent and patent an improved paper clip folding device in 1902._


End file.
